


A Fortunate Weakness

by elwinglyre



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8270489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinglyre/pseuds/elwinglyre
Summary: Sam's knees sunk into the wet freshly turned earth. Last night's late storm saturated the loamy soil, making digging potatoes a messier task than usual. Both knees and elbows in muck, and now his nose itched unbearably. Isn't that the way o' things? Getting such an urge when you can't even scratch?





	1. What the Cards May Hold

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first fan fic and was written right after LotR came out in theaters. I'd read all of Tolkien's books since I was a child and participated on the One Ring site (especially on the book discussion boards) under name of gillygully and learned about this "fan fiction" from a fellowshipper. Thank you to the Princess of Geekdom for reviewing this fic and getting me into fan fiction.
> 
> WARNING on final chapter: although the word rape is used, and Sam is a bit ummm, demonstrative, Frodo is very consenting. However, if you're adverse to any mention of rape at all, don't read this. I only put the Non-con warning on this in case it was a trigger for someone. Warning over.

Sam's knees sunk into the wet freshly turned earth. Last night's late storm saturated the loamy soil, making digging potatoes a messier task than usual. Both knees and elbows in muck, and now his nose itched unbearably. Isn't that the way o' things? Getting such an urge when you can't even scratch?  
  
Then there was all them distractions. He could hear Pippin and Merry's antics from across the field. What were they doing up before noon? Banging and clanging around. Far too early for them to be filled with energy-- the sun hardly up in the center of the sky and all. It just wasn't normal for Bag End. No, not at all-- at least not since Bilbo had left.  
  
Still, Sam was happy. The two coming to Bag End made Frodo smile once again. His master's continued somber mood troubled Samwise. Since Bilbo left, he'd done all he could to cheer his master. Lately, it seemed nothing Sam did or said made a difference. Sam wanted to see his dear friend smile-- the way he used to before Bilbo's birthday. Why just a few days ago, Sam brought Frodo in some of his best roses from the garden. Beautiful they were--shimmering with morning dew and full o' promise. This same gesture many times over never failed to brighten Mr. Frodo. But not then. It weren't right-- that smile he gave Sam. No, not right at all.  
  
To anyone else but Sam, Frodo's smile would look genuine. But they didn't know Mr. Frodo. Not like Sam. He knew Frodo's wooden smile when he saw it. It's the same smile Sam sees on his master's face whenever one of the Sackville-Baggins wave good day. Broke Sam's heart to see that same wooden smile looking at the fine roses. Sam recalled gently recut the stems clean, arranging them carefully in one of Bilbo's best vases; he recalled the sag of Mr. Frodo's shoulders when he thought Sam didn't see. Later, Sam saw the pain deep within his Master's eyes after he asked Frodo if he'd like him to do any thing else before leaving. If the pain Frodo felt was half as bad as the pain Sam felt, Sam knew his master was in a world o' hurt.  
  
Sam ached recalling the way Mr. Frodo's face glowed when he learned Merry and Pippin were coming for a visit. Why did he grudge Merry and Pip the right to bring a smile to Frodo's face, especially since he couldn't? Especially since lately, he got to wondering if maybe he might be the cause of some of the pain.  
  
A loud crash from Bag End brought Sam back to the hill.  
  
"That's about enough from them," Sam mumbled to himself. He put down his spade and marched out of the field and up the path, following Merry and Pip's raised voices.  
  
Sam stomped up the back of Bag End-- the door wide open, and he stopped short, remembering his mud caked condition.  
  
"Now you two have done it!" Sam said. Maybe the two hobbits would think Sam was forgetting his place-- berating them so-- but as far as Sam could see he'd be forgetting his place if he let this chaos continue. "If all that ruckus didn't wake Mr. Frodo afore, all your carryin' on will for sure."  
  
Sam grew tired just looking at the kitchen. Dirty bowls scattered from the table to the counters and even on the floor--the bowls' contents dripping on the floor and off the two hobbits-- one big gooey mess. At first it wasn't clear to Sam just what the mess was. Then he caught the sweet aroma floating about--rich cream, melted chocolate and fresh strawberries. Well, it may look a sight but probably tasted sight better.  
  
"Wake Frodo?" Pip chimed. "Frodo could sleep through my Aunt Rosemunda cleaning out Uncle Odovacar's wine cellar after his yearly eight day bender. Now that's noise. Breaking glass. Screaming. Makes my ears ring."  
  
"You sure that ringing wasn't Uncle slapping you upside your head for getting into his private stock of Old Winyards?" Merry joked.  
  
"It don't make no never mind least ways I see it," Sam said. "Beggin' your pardon sirs, but I could hear you both from out in the north field. What were you two doin' in here to be makin' such a...a...disturbance?"  
  
"It all started with Merry. He didn't believe a word I told him."  
  
"Of course not. It's all a bunch of nonsense," Merry said.  
  
"Is not."  
  
"Is too."  
  
"What's a bunch of nonsense?" Sam interrupted, hands on his hips.  
  
"Pip's been reading my suppos'd future with these-- these," Merry pointed to an odd looking deck of cards scattered on the table. "Told me I was going to get married to Diamond-- have thirteen wee ones--and none at all from her!"  
  
"I only read what the cards tell me, and they tell me you are a cad and scamp, Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck."  
  
"Not so! You made it all up!"  
  
"It's all true. I can read the future. Aunt Hilda says I have a true gift, and I shouldn't waste it. I don't intent to-- thank you very much," a mischievous grin spread across Pip's face. "Say, Sam? Would you like me to read your future?"  
  
Sam shuffled his feet. It didn't seem right-- knowin' the future. No good could come from it, far as Sam could see. Still...  
  
"There's some strawberries and a bit of chocolate left," Pippin tempted Sam, waving a large perfect strawberry and dipping it into some chocolate splattered on the table. He gently waved it under Sam's nose. "I think we've some biscuits and jam left besides. You could sit here and have a bite while I read your fortune. Aren't you even a bit curious?" Pippin courteously pulled out a chair and ceremoniously waved his hand for Sam to sit down.  
  
"Well, I am hungry," Sam sniffed. "And those strawberries do smell good. I guess it wouldn't hurt, but I'm all covered with mud from the garden-- I best get cleaned up first."  
  
Merry pushed back a laugh. "Look at this kitchen? Do you think a little mud is going to hurt?"  
  
"I guess not," Sam said. "Least wise, if I'm the one that'll have to clean it up--"  
  
Sam took the seat offered him at the table. Merry shot Pip a conspired grin over the top Sam's head as Pip picked up the cards and shuffled them. Sam could tell by Master Pippin's skill that he'd played cards a bit too much for his own good. Sam studied Pip's hands closely as he laid the cards out on the table in front of Sam.  
  
"Cut the cards, Samwise."  
  
"What kind of cards are those Master Pippin? I've never seen the like," Sam asked, dutifully cutting the deck.  
  
"Special cards. Cards for the purpose of telling the future. Not like any other cards you'll see here abouts. Not sure where they were made or by whom," Pippin paused, thinking then whispered to Sam. "Maybe by elves."  
  
"Elves?" Now Sam was curious. He looked down at the cards closely as Pippin laid some of them out in an unusual pattern on the table. He'd ne'er seen the like. The edges were embossed in gold with elegant interwoven circles on the back of each. From what Sam could see of the opposite sides, they were equally exquisite-- each beautifully painted with what looked like elves and trees and symbols and such.  
  
"This first card, is the signifier," Pippin said, tapping his finger on the card. "It's in the center and shows the main energy of your life. Your card here-- the moon-- is upside down. It means your conscious mind is blocking your unconscious. Is there anything that's been troubling you lately?" asked Pip. Sam bit his lip thinking-- now, it could be Mr. Frodo's mood. "The next card above signifies that you are concerned about someone close to you. Maybe someone you love. Hmm, might that be someone close to you?"  
  
In came Frodo, stretching from just waking. He stopped in the doorway with a curious look on his face. "What's this?"  
  
"Pippin's telling Sam his fortune," Merry said to Frodo winking. "It's just getting interesting. Sit down."  
  
\--------------------  
  
Frodo pulled up the chair and glanced around at the mess in his kitchen. This would take some effort to clean up. No doubt what pair of hobbits made it. Not fair to leave Sam the mess-- he could lend a hand. Better yet Merry and Pippin could do it.  
  
"Oh, great teller of fortunes," said Frodo, "tell me how my kitchen came to be in such a state."  
  
"That is easy, Master Frodo," answered Pip. "The great doubter among us denied the one great truth and for that he was sorely punished." Pippin stared hard at Merry, who shrugged his shoulders. "Sam," continued Pip, "did you know Frodo is a fortune teller himself? Aye, he knows and is holder to the old method of divining a hobbit's future called soul searching. Isn't that so, Frodo?"  
  
Frodo slowly nodded-- he might as well go along with Pippin. Frodo noticed Sam's soft green eyes big as saucers, looking up at him. Was it getting warm in here?  
  
Frodo cleared his throat: "What is this I see? Two hobbits who in near future will be on their hands and knees?"  
  
"Really Frodo?" Pippin asked. "Doing what?"  
  
"Cleaning this very kitchen," answered Frodo.  
  
Pippin waved Frodo off, ignoring him.  
  
"Really Sam," Pippin continued. "Frodo does have a gift. He reads the wrinkles on the bottom of feet." Frodo and Merry stifled their laughter. Sam sat seriously considering this bit of information.  
  
"And you say this is called soul searching?" Sam asked.  
  
"Yes, and he's very good. Isn't he Merry?"  
  
"Yes, he is. He read about Fattie Bolger's mishap with that pony last Yuletide," Merry said.  
  
"I never hear'd of no mishap with a pony-- least not with Fattie," Sam said.  
  
"And right you are," Merry said, thinking quickly. "That's because Frodo prevented it. He warned them of the danger preventing any such injury. That's why Fattie never leads his pony over the ice," Sam looked at Merry skeptically.  
  
"Is this true Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked.  
  
"You could say I prevented a mishap," Frodo said. It was partly true, Frodo reasoned. You could say it-- although it wouldn't be true. Frodo had to admit he was having fun with Sam. He enjoyed seeing Sam's face all warm with admiration for Frodo-- even if it was misplaced.  
  
"This next card tells how you see yourself," Pippin pointed down to a card with silver and gold stars with a crimson background.  
  
"Aye, and how do I see myself?" Sam asked, savoring the strawberry he just popped in his mouth.  
  
"You have a proper balance between desire and work," Pip said. Frodo shifted in seat.  
  
"That's always healthy," said Merry.  
  
"Yes, it is Merry," Pip answered, placing another card on the table.  
  
"What does that card mean?" Sam said, staring down. Frodo leaned forward to get a closer look at the card.  
  
"That's the ace of cups upside down," Pippin said, trying to put on his most serious face. "I see a few different paths here. They are pathways to your heart. These paths lead to two great loves. One path--a secret love. The other-- not so secret."  
  
"Now it's starting to get interesting," Merry said, pulling his chair closer.  
  
"This next card, I lay across the ace of cups. This crosses the other card. It's sort of your fate regarding these ummm... loves." Pippin slowly pulls out the card and lays it across the top of the ace. "I'm sorry Sam," said Pip. Frodo noticed Sam's brows furl together. "I see unrequited love. Or sterility. Could be either. Maybe both." Frodo was beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea after all. Sam's cheeks flushed, and Frodo opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. Secret love?  
  
Pippin flipped over the last card, and Sam gasped. Frodo looked down at the lone card on the table-- it was frightful. A mist enveloped a skeleton that stood on the edge of a precipice. This couldn't be good. Pippin took his arm and with one swoop, scooped the cards off the table and shuffled them into the rest of the deck.  
  
"That's enough fortune telling for today," Pippin said abruptly.  
  
Sam's mouth fell open then snapped shut. Frodo noticed Sam's jaw working.  
  
"What did that card mean?" Sam asked, hands rubbing the legs of his pants.  
  
"We better start cleaning this kitchen now if we want to make to the Green Dragon soon Merry."  
  
Sam jumped up-- his chair, clattering to the door. "Hang the mess," said Sam. "Tell, me what that card meant!"  
  
"You better tell him, Pippin. You started this," Frodo said.  
  
"Very well. Sit down Sam. It didn't mean anything. Just... maybe... well... some one you might know might be in great danger. Or it is about something you care deeply for," Pippin brightened. "Maybe the potatoes won't be as good this year."  
  
\----------  
  
It wasn't vegetables that Sam was thinking on. Images of his Gaffer with his hand pressed to his chest, and Frodo on the cold bare ground leapt to mind.  
  
"Who is it?" Sam demanded.  
  
"I don't know Sam. This was just for fun. Nothing to get serious over. You pick up the bowls Merry, and I'll get a mop." Typical of Pippin, Frodo thought. As soon as the fun leaves the room, he does the same. Frodo looked at Sam. No, this wasn't a good idea at all.  
  
This wasn't a good idea to Sam either. What possessed him to do this? As always, Pippin drew him in. Sam remembered the prank they played on Jolly Cotton in the chicken coop. Didn't he learn a thing from that? This all left him feeling vulnerable. Seeing his da hurt flashed through his mind again. He looked over at Mr. Frodo-- the happiness in his face gone. Instead he was staring sadly at Sam. That same sad look. Now, Sam not only felt awful about what Pippin told him, but he felt awful to be making Mr. Frodo sad again.  
  
Sam noticed Frodo's studied gaze, prompting him to look down at himself. The caked mud from the hot kitchen baked to his skin and clothes. Thick slabs had pealed and crumbled off on to the floor, leaving a trail. What a mess he was. He always took time to wash. He often brought a clean shirt to change into. His eyes met Frodo's-- ashamed.  
  
What was he thinking any how? Eating strawberries and chocolate, mingling with Merry and Pippin-- like he was one of them. He should have kept his place out in the garden. Serves him right, his Gaffer would say. Better clean himself.  
  
Sam was at the pump by the tool shed, washing off the dried mud from his arms when Frodo came walking up-- hands in his pockets and eyes pressed to the ground.  
  
Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. What if someone close to him was in danger? He needed to know who. To help them. It was then he remembered what Frodo had done for Fattie. Maybe he could ask Mr. Frodo to help him. He looked up at Mr. Frodo who stood fidgeting in front of the pump. What would it hurt to ask?  
  
"Do you think you could help me, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took a deep breath and went on. "If I'm not presumin' too much, could you read my future? Maybe you could tell me what I need to know." Sam finished washing the mud from his arms and began on his legs.  
  
"I don't know Sam," Frodo laughed. "Your feet are still awfully dirty. I doubt the Valar themselves could read anything off the bottom of them."  
  
Sam looked down at his feet and blushed. The color in Sam's cheeks and his unabashed candor left Frodo tongue tied.  
  
\--------  
  
"I'm sorry, Sam. Pip and Merry have a habit of going a bit too far for their own good," Frodo said, feeling guilty for his own part. He knew it was Sam's nature to still be wondering about the one in danger-- the one he cared about.  
  
Frodo felt the blood rushing to his face and other more delicate places as he watched Sam wash off his feet. Maybe he could try to read his feet-- or fortune. Pippin hadn't entirely made up that story of Frodo the fortune teller. Frodo had read some Elven books on the subject and did a bit of playful fortune telling with Merry and Pippin. It was all in fun. Maybe he could get Sam calmed and reasonable by placating him this way. Why not try? ...and there was the vision before Frodo: Sam standing with mud between his toes, his shirt wet and clinging across his broad shoulders and firm chest. Frodo sighed.  
  
"All right Sam. Finish cleaning up your feet and come in. I'll make some tea and see what I can see."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said brightly. "I'll make lunch for us and clean up some more a bit after. I know Merry and Pippin will try to clean the kitchen, but beggin' your pardon-- they wouldn't do a proper job of it. That's not something either are likely to take much time doing. Thank you again, sir." Frodo sighed again and turned around and walked back into Bag End. He wondered why Sam looked at him that way-- like he was special. Frodo knew who the special one was, and it wasn't him. If Sam knew the truth, what his friend thought about him-- the way his friend thought of him-- Sam would not think Frodo was special at all. That's why Sam must never know.  
  
It was after Bilbo left that Frodo became aware that his feelings for Sam weren't normal. Before he would always brush off the feelings-- he and Sam had always been close-- Sam his closest friend. Over the years at Bag End, Sam was his touch stone. The one true friend that kept him sane. He loved Bilbo with all his heart, but Sam was someone nearer to his age. What's more he understood Frodo and shared the same interests. Sam would listen to Frodo read to him for hours. Tales about Elves and dwarves and places far away. Frodo would listen to Sam talk about the garden-- tell Frodo how the land talks for those who listen.  
  
Frodo recalled the day he first had those feelings. He watched a hand full of top soil slip through Sam's fingers. He closed his eyes imagining what that same hand would feel like slipping through his own hair. From then on Frodo would hold on to each word Sam would speak, each movement Sam made-- hold it tightly to himself in an intimate embrace. He'd imagine what Sam's lips would taste like, or how Sam's arms would feel wrapped tight around him.  
  
And the dreams. He was helpless to them. At first he thought the dreams a sweet blessing. Until the day, Frodo realized Sam would never feel the same for him. Yes, he loved his master-- as a friend. He looked up him. After that day, Frodo's dreams, his feeling, became not a sweet blessing but a bitter curse.  
  
Now, he was unable to resist. Just thinking of handling Sam's feet was doing unspeakable things to his body.  
  
Pippin and Merry were still working on the kitchen when Frodo came in. He looked around and shook his head.  
  
"I know," said Merry. "Not as good a job as Sam would have done. You know Sam will clean the kitchen all over again anyway." Frodo put water on the stove for the tea.  
  
"Is he still upset?" Pip asked.  
  
"Of course he is," said Frodo. "He's coming back in here after he cleans himself up for tea and to fix lunch. You two hungry?"  
  
"I think we'll be going to the Green Dragon to eat today-- if you don't mind," Pippin answered. Frodo smiled. Pippin not hungry for Sam's cooking? He must really want to avoid Sam, Frodo thought.  
  
Sam walked shyly in through the door-- arms, face, feet and legs scrubbed pink clean. Frodo felt the familiar pull deep in his chest. He turned to get the two cups out of the cupboard, hands shaking a bit.  
  
"Well, we're off to the Green Dragon," Pippin waved over his shoulder. "Don't wait up for us."  
  
"I shan't!" Frodo hollered after them as they made fast tracks out the door.  
  
"Well, that hardly seems polite and all-- pardon me speakin' Mr. Frodo, but shouldn't they invite you along?" Sam asked.  
  
"I don't think that's upper most on their minds right now. Rather, I think Master Pippin's trying to dodge your questions. I think I can safely say, that with the two, it's unspoken or assumed that I'm invited. If I wanted to go, I would. I'd rather help you here, Sam. Besides, I'm not sure I want to be in on one of their drunkin' brawls-- at least not tonight," Frodo laughed. He set the tea on the table, and they both sat down. Frodo spooned in some honey and stirred, frowning into his cup.  
  
Sam wasn't sure he understood. His Gaffer would never assume he was invited to anything. And why was his master looking into his tea like he lost his best friend?  
  
"If you don't want to do this Mr. Frodo, you don't have to. I mean, I do want to know, but I don't mean to put you out no how."  
  
"I don't mind, Sam. I said I rather be here. I really don't mind in the least. I just don't want you to think that I can give you the answers you want."  
  
"I understand sir."  
  
"Good, then... Well, give me your left foot." With that Sam unceremoniously plopped his foot into Frodo's lap.  
  
"Well, let's see," Frodo delicately moved his finger tips across the pad on Sam's foot. "You are going to have many children. No need to worry about being sterile," Frodo laughed.  
  
"How many do you see?" Sam asked.  
  
"A lot..." Frodo counted to himself, "...twelve."  
  
"Twelve. My, that's a lot of mouths to feed."  
  
"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Sam." Frodo studied his foot carefully. He saw not only a long full life, but that Pippin was right about the two loves. Frodo smiled-- imagine Pippin being right. Now, he was beginning to believe.  
  
"What else do you see Mr. Frodo?" Sam pushed himself farther forward in his chair, pushing his foot further up into Frodo's lap. Frodo cleared his throat and felt a sudden rush of warmth spreading through his body into his loins. He shifted his weight in his chair. Did Sam realize the state he was in? Too late he noticed his own hands shaking. Frodo looked at Sam-- a look of concern and confusion washed across Sam's face.  
  
"I don't see any thing that indicates that you'll lose anyone you care for in the near future. Not for some time any way," Frodo paused. "Sam?"  
  
"Are you sure you don't see anything, sir? I mean maybe you need to look at my other foot?" Before Frodo could answer, Sam removed his left foot and swung his right into Frodo's lap. There was no mistaking Frodo's condition this time. Frodo dropped his head, closed his eyes and swallowed-- afraid to open them and look into Sam's eyes. Frozen in dread, Frodo sat with Sam's foot snuggly pressed against the hard heat burning there. No mistaking what that was no matter how thick the soles on Sam's feet were.  
  
Frodo slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. The look of shock on Sam's face was enough to deflate his heart. He wished it would do the same for another part of his anatomy.  
  
Frodo eyes met Sam's.  
  
"O' dear me," Sam said a bit too abruptly. "I think it's time I'm getting back to me Gaffer's. He said he had work for me to do this afternoon. I best be going."  
  
"Sam, wait," Frodo had not one idea of what to say, but he knew he best be saying it fast before Sam left with the wrong idea.  
  
The wrong idea. That was rich. What other idea could Sam glean from what just happened?  
  
"It's not what you think. It's just that..." What? I need to use the privy?  
  
"Mr. Frodo," Sam said, looking steadily at him. "I don't know what to think or not. Maybe it's best not to think and forget this-- if you get my meaning."  
  
"Sam..."  
  
"I best be goin' sir." With that Sam left. Frodo stood in the middle of the kitchen staring after him. Sam was shaken and afraid of his reaction. He must be-- Sam hadn't even thought about cleaning the kitchen or making Frodo's lunch. This was bad.  
  
Frodo stood trembling. He'd lost Bilbo and now...  
  
He feared he could lose Sam over his despicable desire. Maybe he already has. Frodo sank to the floor into a fetal position hugging his legs desperately, rocking back and forth. Tears traced his cheeks, and he choked back the sobs.  
  
He'd done it this time. Well, there was only one thing left to do.  
  
Go to the Green Dragon and get blinding drunk.


	2. What Dreams May Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even from the far corner table in the Green Dragon, Merry could see Frodo was in trouble. Frodo's left hand clutched the door frame. He stood as if one in a dream-- looking without seeing and right hand fumbling mindlessly inside his pocket.

Even from the far corner table in the Green Dragon, Merry could see Frodo was in trouble. Frodo's left hand clutched the door frame. He stood as if one in a dream-- looking without seeing and right hand fumbling mindlessly inside his pocket.  
  
Frodo swayed--the noise of the Green Dragon roared through him like the foaming green wave in the elven story Frodo once read to Merry years ago. Queen Tar-Míriel, fairer than silver, she was. Swept away by the wave. Merry watched another wave wash through Frodo-- pushing through his pores, rushing through his insides, coming cold and roaring out of him, only to have the following wave claim him again. He looked small-- vulnerable-- unimportant. He swayed there, struggling to keep the next wave from taking him. Merry hurried to the door to rescue his friend-- afraid that this might be the one green cold Wave plumed with foam-- the one which washes all away in its wake.  
  
A cold shiver of a memory shook Merry as he crossed the room to his friend.  
  
He remembered a Frodo like the one at the door-- a Frodo whose his parents had just died. Lost, alone and empty. No one or nothing could reach Frodo. Merry was young at the time, but he still remembered how his family thought Frodo was lost to them. Yet as quickly as this sadness flooded through Frodo, it ran out of him. The Frodo Merry loved so dearly and tagged after, came back. Now, as Merry looked upon his friend, he feared for him-- fear that he was being swept away never to come back.  
  
What could have happened in the short hours after he and Pippin left Bag End to leave Frodo this way? Something changed Frodo from laughing and joking into the Frodo now standing in front of him. He knew Bilbo's leaving hurt Frodo deeply-- and that Frodo put on a face to hide it. Sam had said as much to him. But this?  
  
"Frodo?" Merry said. Frodo reached out for Merry, becoming his support-- his guide. Gently he lead Frodo to their table. As Frodo looked into Merry's face, recognition crept into his sad deep blue eyes. Merry saw his bottom lip's faint quiver become firm. His glazed stare become clear.  
  
Frodo leaned into Merry. "I'm thirsty."  
  
"Why Frodo," Pippin said. "I think you've had enough."  
  
Ah, Pippin, my dear Pippin, thought Merry. You are just as oblivious to Frodo's trauma as the rest of the patrons of the Green Dragon. And maybe that was as it should be. Best to mistake Frodo's stagger and listlessness as a drunken stupor. Less questions to answer.  
  
"Rosie!" Pippin signaled. "Three over here!" Pippin leaned across the table, sticking his face with in a breath of Frodo's. "I'm up for your dare. Let's find out which one of us may drink the most. Bring the best beer from the tap! Let's settle it now! Think you can drink me under the table? I think we're about evenly matched in our cups about now. What do you say Frodo?"  
  
"No," said Merry, shaking his head vehemently, watching Frodo carefully. "No, it's not a good idea."  
  
"What's wrong Merry?" Pip asked, giving Merry his best croaked smile. "Since when do you say no to a good ol' drinking contest?"  
  
"Lawks! I think both you, and Frodo have had enough," Merry said, jabbing Pippin in the ribs, hoping his cousin would not realize Frodo's real plight.  
  
"Ouch. Merry, I do believe you were trying to hurt me." Pippin leaned in close and said in a husky voice, "Hurt me again Merry."  
  
"Stop that," Merry whispered back harshly.  
  
Rosie set down three full mugs in front of them.  
  
"Merry, now how can you turn these beauties down?" Pip said dramatically, sticking his finger in his ale and testing it. "See? Her taste is sweet. Someone loves me. Come--be My love." With that Pippin tipped the fine brew to his lips and gulped it completely down without taking a breath.  
  
"That's one!" Pip hollered, slamming his mug down on the table. "Rosie, keep them coming!"  
  
"No fair. You started with out me," Frodo said, downing his just as quickly.  
  
Merry tugged at Frodo's sleeve and whispered in his ear, "Do you think this wise?" Frodo gave Merry a quick smile and belched in his face.  
  
Pippin picked up the next mug and chugged. "Two!" he said, punctuating with a belch also. "Ha! I'm also better at burping."  
  
Merry waved one hand in front of his face while holding his nose. "What were you eatin' Pippin?"  
  
"Pickled eggs," Pippin laughed, picking up his third mug.  
  
"Aye! I'm not coming anywhere near you tonight," said Merry. "Give up Frodo. I don't think have a chance against Pip unless you call foul."  
  
"Foul?" said Pip. "I'll show you foul! More pickled eggs!"  
  
Frodo gave Merry a determined stare and pounded his mug on the table. "That's two for me."  
  
Merry watched Frodo grab for his third ale and hesitate a moment before he tipped it against his lips--his throat convulsing before taking a swig. Frodo closed his eyes and took large panicky gulps.  
  
"Pippin?" Frodo set down his empty mug.  
  
"Yes, Frodo?"  
  
"If you were to read my cards, what would you see?"  
  
"I don't know Frodo. Would you like me to read your cards?" Pip asked.  
  
Merry was disturbed to see Frodo gazing into his fourth deep mug of beer before tipping it up to his lips. He picked it up and slowly drank it down. Pippin shifted in his seat. Merry could tell that even Pip was coming to realize that not all was right with Master Baggins.  
  
"I wonder," said Frodo, his finger rubbing the side of his mug. "Would you see a family? Twelve little ones? Is there even one who loves me? Shall there be a tomorrow? -- for me, I mean."  
  
"Don't you go worrying about not being loved, Frodo Baggins. There are plenty who care for you. Me for one," Merry said. "And what's this about no tomorrows? If you don't stop this nonsense, I'll not let Pippin sing you to sleep tonight."  
  
"Noodles! I love you too Frodo," Pippin said, wiping his mouth off with the back his hand and slamming his mug on the table. "And don't you listen to Merry. I'd sing to you no matter what. By the way-- that's three. Best to remember our purpose here and to keep the creed of all drinking games-- never think."  
  
"Drinking contest creed?" Merry laughed. "I thought that was your personal moral code."  
  
Pippin thought on that for a moment, trying to ascertain if he'd been insulted or not. Then said brightly, "I've found thinking often confuses the mind."  
  
"I've found that true also," Frodo agreed with a sigh and picked up his next drink. "Bottoms up!" Frodo said. "To not thinking!"  
  
"To not thinking!" Pip and Merry agreed, tapping their mugs together.  
  
"Set up more ale. Let the game continue," called out Peregrin Took. And with that the contest began in earnest. Merry gave up trying to stop them and joined in. They'd been at it most of the afternoon and looked to be that Frodo Baggins was well past the falling down stage and at the usual point where he spins all kinds of elven tales to anyone who will listen. Merry smiled-- remembering all the times that Bilbo did the same. At least Frodo was happy, thought Merry-- even if he and Pip were bored to tears.  
  
"Aye, and that is the tale of the great Fingolfin. Would you like to hear another Merry? Pip?" Frodo slapped his youngest cousin hard across the back sending his face into his beer. Merry and Frodo both leaned back in their chairs, laughing at Pip shaking the ale from his hair when the smile left Frodo's face. Merry looked to the door to see the cause.  
  
It was Sam.  
  
\-------------------  
  
Oh, Frodo thought, he didn't want to be here. In this room-- with Sam now. Not in the Green Dragon, not in Shire nor any where in Middle Earth. It hurt too much. Distance no matter how near or far hurt-- but near hurt most. It was that breath of space between them that would never be crossed that Frodo longed for-- the space he could only reach in his dreams.  
  
Sam nodded to his friend Jolly Cotton and walked over to join him. Sam's eyes skittered past Frodo as he walked by-- their eyes met for only one instant, then Sam looked down. He walked past, head down and sat with his back to Frodo. It was like the longest night of the year inside Frodo's heart.  
  
"Frodo Baggins," Merry said, resting his hand atop Frodo's. "Tell us what happened between you and Sam that's got you hurting so."  
  
"He knows the truth," said Frodo, his forehead hitting the table.  
  
"What truth?" asked Pip.  
  
"The truth about me," answered Frodo, tapping his forehead against the oak table.  
  
"And which truth might that be?" Merry asked.  
  
"I--" Frodo lifted his head and stared long into his beer as if trying to find the answer there. "I want-- I long for-- something I can't have." Frodo voice caught. He could not tell them. If they knew the truth, Merry and Pippin would be horrified. Their friendship was all he had left. He was too drunk to have this conversation. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Why must those I love always leave?" Frodo asked quietly. Did I say that aloud, he thought.  
  
"Would it be any better if you left all that you love?" asked Merry. "No, it would not. Look around you. Do you think you are the only one that feels alone and afraid? You won't name what this truth is. Leaving this truth unnamed gives it power. I know what this truth is-- I know. There are others in this very room that know." Merry said, looking at Pippin. "Do they shrink away?"  
  
"You know?" whispered Frodo.  
  
"For sometime. I have eyes to see. Do you have a voice to speak?" said Merry.  
  
"It's just that I've carried this for so long," Frodo said.  
  
"Do you think we didn't know? Your plans to sell Bag End?" Pippin whispered furtively. "I heard in Michel Delving that the Sackville-Baggins are planning to buy it from you. We thought it just a rumor-- did Sam find out before you could tell him? Don't you plan on taking him with you?"  
  
Frodo sank back into chair. His couldn't think clearly at all. What did they know? He gaze lingered a moment over to where Sam sat.  
  
"You are thinking of going," wondered Merry aloud. "But what's been eating at you isn't that. Not at all. If you'd be leaving, you'd be leaving to follow after Bilbo-- I can't see you all tore up over that. No, that's not why you're trying to drink away your pain. This is about Sam. Maybe it is about leaving him behind. The reason for your condition is the reason behind the way you've been acting since we came to visit. Now, it's come to a crossroad as I see it. Tell us."  
  
Merry knew. He must know, Frodo thought. And he doesn't think any the less of him. Maybe if he does speak this weakness, it will have less power over him. If he could only get the words out.  
  
"Have you ever noticed the color of his eyes?" Frodo sighed. "The color of fire light going cold-- smoldering-- sometimes I'll stir the ashes just to see it."  
  
"Frodo's in love with Sam!" Pip yelped. Frodo's head hit the table again with a groan. What was he thinking, telling them?  
  
"Hush Pippin," Merry said. "Of course he is."  
  
"How is that a problem?" asked Pip.  
  
Merry ignored him. "You told Sam then?"  
  
"No, worse..." Frodo groaned, "much worse. It's what I did, not what I said. I'm sick. I need to get out of here, but I don't think I can make it out the door."  
  
\-------------  
  
"Samwise?"  
  
Sam looked up. Master Merry stood before him, struggling to hold up Peregrin Took. "I need your help, Sam. Frodo's passed out and... I have my hands full here. I was wondering, could you do me a favor and look after Frodo?"  
  
Sam stood up and looked over at his master. He'd carried his share of friends home, and he'd been carried home himself a few times more than he'd liked to remember-- but he never once did he carry Mr. Frodo home. He'd seen Mr. Frodo a bit happy with drink before, maybe a bit stumbly, but never such as this. He knowed it was partly because of what happened earlier.  
  
"Aye," Sam said. "Don't concern yourself none Master Merry-- I'll get Mr. Frodo home."  
  
"Thank you, Sam. I don't think we'll be up when you get there, just let yourself in." Sam raised an eye brow as he heard Pippin giggling against Merry's back as they stumbled out the of the Green Dragon.  
  
"Looks to be like Master Merry left the hard work to you," commented Jolly, nodding over to Mr. Frodo who was face down on the table, dead to the Middle Earth.  
  
"Aye, that's for sure," Sam said, hitching up his courage for the long walk to Bag End. Sam could see Mr. Frodo stir a bit and walked over to his master, sitting down in the seat that Merry had warmed next to him.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam said, shaking Frodo gently.  
  
"Sam? It's you!" Frodo looked closely at Sam. "Is this a dream?"  
  
"It's your Samwise, for sure. But this ain't no dream Mr. Frodo. You are deep in the cups. It's my job to get you home and to bed."  
  
"To bed? That sounds nice," Frodo leaned closer into Sam, his large eyes struggled to focus on Sam's face. "You sure this isn't a dream? When ever I ask someone in a dream if it's a dream, they always tell me it's not,-- so, this must be a dream--"  
  
"Pardon, I don't mean to interrupt, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "I do follow what you're a saying, but this ain't no dream. This place is the real Green Dragon were sittin' in. That there is Rosie Cotton and over there is Jolly Cotton. Mr. Frodo, you aren't dreaming-- you're drunk."  
  
"Drunk? Why that's silly. I never get drunk. This must be a dream-- otherwise you wouldn't be here with me so close, and you certainly wouldn't be taking me to bed, would you Sam?"  
  
Sam felt his face getting hot. "Hush, Mr. Frodo. And to speak plainly-- others might be listening-- dream or no, that's not wise. We don't need no jaws flapping. Come on let me help you up. Samwise will get you home." He put his arm around Frodo, pulling him up. Frodo let his body melt against Sam's and his head fall into Sam's chest. Lawd, Sam thought, this must be a sight. His felt the blush in his cheeks spread down from his neck into his chest. Sam tried to ignore the stares as he half carried his master out the door.  
  
"Oh, Sam you smell so good. Like strawberries and chocolate." Sam looked around. Wouldn't do to have someone's ears over hear what poor Mr. Frodo was saying. He just wasn't himself, was all. It's not like Mr. Frodo to say such things. Then there was what happened in the kitchen. Sam was just beginning to understand what it all meant-- Mr. Frodo wanted him-- and not in a gardener like way. He'd had some of them feeling afore himself about lasses-- done a bit of kissing and a bit more. But with a lad? He'd heard of such things, but they just ain't natural. True--Mr. Frodo wasn't like others. He liked that Mr. Frodo was different. He did love Mr. Frodo. Always had. Just not that way. He never thought of him any other way before.  
  
Frodo's body leaned heavily on Sam's. His warm sweet breath prickled Sam's neck. Frodo was quiet the rest of the way home-- content to be lead by Sam. It was a warm summer night, stars sparkled in the rich night sky. Yes, Sam was glad to be outside away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues of the Green Dragon. Mr. Frodo was gossiped enough about already without this.  
  
"Sam?" Frodo said as Sam pushed the door open to Bag End.  
  
"What is it Mr. Frodo?" Sam felt Frodo's mouth tenderly brush against his neck.  
  
"What do you want to do with me when you take me to bed?" Frodo whispered, his tongue flicking just behind his ear. Sam swallowed, feeling Frodo's heat against him. This had to stop.  
  
"Mr. Frodo. This ain't no dream. This is Samwise talkin' to you-- flesh and bones and all," with that Sam pinched Mr. Frodo in the ribs. Frodo flinched. A startled look of recognition fell across his face like one in a deep sleep doused with ice cold water. "I'm sorry I did that Mr. Frodo," Sam stammered, "but there seemed naught else would to bring you to your senses, sir."  
  
"Oh, Sam," Frodo moaned and covered his face with his hands. Sam could feel Frodo shivering against him. He watched his master take a shaky step backward and turn away. "Please leave, Sam."  
  
Sam grimaced. Samwise Gamgee, you ninnyhammer. You should have let Mr. Frodo keep believing it was a dream.Was it hurtin' you anyway? Save him the embarrassment. Now you've gone and made it all worse. Better to leave now before he made more a mess o' things.  
  
\--------------------  
  
Frodo heard the front door of Bag End close softly. He'd half known all along that it wasn't a dream. Part of his clouded mind hoped Samwise would become the Samwise in his dreams. If he didn't know before, he did now. Sam didn't want him.  
  
He didn't realize he was sobbing until he tasted the tears in mouth. He floundered down the hallway to his room-- his body lurching against the wall for support. He needed to lie down. He needed to sleep-- to escape this living nightmare of a day. He didn't bother to light a candle as he stumbled into the room. He just stripped off his shirt and fumbled around for his chair, but it wasn't in the usual place. Instead, he slid to the floor and pulled off his pants. Crawling on his hands and knees to the bed, he struggled to get into it by pulling himself up with the covers, meeting some resistance. Finally, after the third attempt he lurched himself into the bed.  
  
"Frodo?" asked Merry. First startled then relieved, Frodo threw his arms around Merry, realizing he was in Merry's room-- in Merry's bed. Frodo hung on to Merry and wept. Merry tenderly brushed the damp curls from his face and kissed his salty tears. Frodo shuddered.  
  
"Frodo," Merry whispered. "We thought having Sam bring you home would--help."  
  
"His face. He was sickened by me. I threw myself at him. I asked him to..."  
  
"Who are you talking to Merry?"  
  
"Frodo. I'm talking to Frodo. Go back to sleep, Pip." Instead of going back to sleep, Pippin rolled over and leaned in against Merry, smiling at Frodo.  
  
Bewildered, Frodo gaped at them both.  
  
"I know," Merry said. "We should have told you a while ago. We didn't for the same reason you found it hard to put the way you feel about Sam into words."  
  
Merry swept a tear from the corner of Frodo's mouth with his finger. "I'm so very sorry. No matter what you may think right now, know that Sam does love you."  
  
"I know he loves me too-- just not in love with me." Frodo said, crying softly.  
  
The sheets shifted, and Pippin gently leaned into them-- caressing Frodo's forehead, face and lips with fluttering fingertips. Frodo could hear Merry's breath quicken as Pippin's clever mouth smoothed light kisses along his lover's neck. Frodo wondered what he was doing here. He thought before this was a dream. Was this an extension of the same? --the knowledge of Merry and Pippin together as lovers-- the dream he had so many times. Ahh, Sam. But that would never be real. He felt Pippin's shudder against his own body and suddenly became aware of how close he was pressed against his friends. Ahh, this was real-- so real and so overwhelming. Frodo felt the crush of Pippin's form through Merry. He felt Merry's hand flat against his chest and the heat on his thighs. He felt himself harden.  
  
"You do not need to be alone tonight," Merry murmured in his ear. Frodo could not hide his own need, resting against Merry. It was all too easy to wash away his pain here in this bed. Frodo had kissed and petted some but never felt another form naked against his. Never felt anything like the bare heat that he now felt against him.  
  
"I don't want to be alone tonight," whispered Frodo, and Merry's mouth answered him, tongue urgent. Frodo surrendered to his longing-- opening himself to Merry. A new delicious throb pulsed in Frodo's ears-- his breath hitched; his heart skipped. He wrapped his arms tighter around Merry urgently letting his tongue brush against Merry's lips and then cover his mouth with need. Frodo whimpered as Merry's lips left his mouth--shuddering as Merry drew his kisses down his neck to his chest nipping.  
  
Pippin's hand reached between them, grasping Merry's ridged member. Frodo moaned as Merry gently pushed Frodo on to his back and swept his kisses lower. Pippin took Frodo's hand and placed on Merry's length-- all making Frodo dizzy. This felt good, yet he felt detached. With his hand under Pippin's, they both squeezed. Merry bit back a cry then looked up into the depths of Frodo's eyes searching. Then he saw it.  
  
Merry sat up, pulling away from both Frodo and Pippin.  
  
"It's not right," said Merry. "I know you don't want to be alone, but this may be too much. I don't want you to do this unless this is what you want Frodo-- you know in your heart." Merry hesitated, still breathing heavily. "I see in your eyes that lost look. I'm not so sure you should be here with us-- like this."  
  
"Part of me wants this--" Frodo said, "wants this desperately. You know I'm wanting for Sam. Yet all my dreams-- my desires for him will never come to pass. It's this wanting inside of me-- wanting more. Merry, you know me too well. I do want more than this, but maybe this shall be all I ever have."  
  
"And maybe this shall have you wanting more than before," said Merry. Frodo knew Merry was right. He wasn't the only one to think of either. Pippin had been strangely quiet through all this-- listening to them both. The last thing Frodo wanted was to do anything that would hurt them. "I understand completely," Merry sighed. "You may leave, or you may stay. If you like, you may even watch. And if you want more we'll be here too." Merry turned to meet Pippin's eyes and smiled.  
  
Frodo sat for a moment, searching both of their faces. Was it a mistake stumbling into this room or is this what he wanted?  
  
"I'd like to watch. Please," said Frodo.  
  
Pippin's lips curled into a wicked little smile.  
  
Pippin kissed Merry's eyelids then pecked both his cheeks. "This will be fun," he said, winking at Frodo then taking Merry's mouth in his. Frodo could see Merry jaws working as Pip's tongue darted inside his mouth. Frodo felt his heart pound as he watched Pippin pull himself atop his lover and began to slowly grind his hips. Merry moaned in return, sliding his member in hot rhythm next to Pippin's own heat. Frodo sat watching-- panting almost as hard as they were.  
  
"I want you inside me Merry," he heard Pippin say.  
  
Frodo had heard of this being done and had wondered about it. In his dreams, he had some clumsy visions of what this might be like with Sam. He watched as Merry took a small blue bottle from beneath the pillow and pour a bit of oil on to his hands. Pippin reached out, and Merry languidly poured a bit into his. Pippin rubbed it on to Merry's stiff member, sending shivers through Frodo. He couldn't take his eyes off either of them, and his hand slowly found his own need and stroked it in time with Pippin's strokes on Merry. Frodo's gestures were not lost on either Merry or Pippin, who whimpered in delight to see Frodo hot and sweaty, writhing on their bed.  
  
When Merry took his finger and began to stretch Pippin to make room for his length, Frodo thought he would come right then. Pippin squirmed and pushed against his hand and said, "More, more please, Merry." And Merry answered with another finger prying him-- and then another-- each time sending shivers through Pippin and Frodo both.  
  
"Now, Merry. I can't wait," Pippin begged. Merry took his hand away and lowered himself atop Pip, making sure Frodo had a good line of sight. He slowly pushed his way inside each movement forward brought pleads and gasps from Pippin beneath. Frodo breathing was ragged; he stoked himself and was almost there over the top. He come close to coming twice-- both times stopping and panting. This was all too much to see his friends like this. Merry thrusting harder into Pippin. By the look of them, Frodo knew they were both close. Sweat dripped from Merry's brow and both bodies shimmered. He saw Merry's hand grasp Pippin's hard shaft and pump it in time with his thrusts. That was enough for Pip. He cried out-- and with that Merry came-- capturing Pippin's mouth, whispering quiet words of love.  
  
They both collapsed together-- a bundle of sweat and sticky sweetness. Pippin lifted his head and looked at Frodo, who still had himself in hand in a very aroused state.  
  
He was hard. Harder than he'd ever felt before. He guessed prolonging his excitement wasn't such a good idea. He'd yet to come.  
  
Merry gasped, "Enough, this time is for you, Frodo. Lay back." Frodo obeyed.  
  
"Do you mind if I help you out with that?" asked Pippin.  
  
"No, please do," Frodo said in a quiet voice. "But please, no teasing." Pippin crawled over to Frodo with a sly grin on his face and wasted no time. Frodo closed his eyes as Pippin sucked Frodo deep into his mouth. He'd never felt this before and wished this would go slower. Pippin felt so good. His mouth so soft and tight around him. He could see lights, crackling before him as his blood pounded to the spot where Pippin was showing all his loving attention. And what was he doing with his tongue? Frodo clutched at the sheets and rose his hips to meet Pippin hungry mouth, thrusting faster and faster, up and down his shaft. He was there. He could feel it. As he cried out, Merry kissed him deeply, tenderly. Please, let this moment last, he thought.  
  
Then it was over.  
  
As he lay spent, Pippin took him from his mouth and looked coyly up at him. "You are as delicious as you look Frodo Baggins."  
  
"And tired too. I'm afraid you two have wrecked me," Frodo said with a yawn.  
  
"Lay here with us, dear one," Merry invited. "We'll comfort any sadness that shall come your way before the break of day."  
  
"If you want me to sing you to sleep, I will," said Pippin, tucking a curl behind Frodo's ear and snuggling closer.  
  
"Please do," Frodo said. Then Pippin sang a sweet lullaby, and Frodo slipped his arms around them both and fell into deep slumbers.  
  
No dreams, good or ill, passed through Frodo that night.


	3. What the Ring May Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam awoke.
> 
> He never in all his days did he have a dream such as that. He'd had more than a few dreams with Mr. Frodo in them-- givin' Sam advice or readin' him tales of elves and such. Aye, and Sam had his share of those dreams, too.

Sam awoke.  
  
He never in all his days did he have a dream such as that. He'd had more than a few dreams with Mr. Frodo in them-- givin' Sam advice or readin' him tales of elves and such. Aye, and Sam had his share of those dreams, too. But never had one of those dreams with Mr. Frodo. His cheeks were getting hot just thinking of it. While most times Sam only partly recalled those dreams, last night's apparitions were vivid-- the results of which were on more than his mind.  
  
Sam also recalled every detail of the day before, and how he'd been a such ninnyhammer. The dream most likely a result of his stupid fool self reacting to Mr. Frodo in such a stupid fool way. No way, no how he could avoid going there this morning and seeing Mr. Frodo. And in a way, Sam was anxious to go see him and set all aright between them.  
  
The hot summer night sheets stuck to his body-- a reminder of what transpired in his dreams. He'd have to strip the bed and wash the sheets his own self. Least wise he had the decency to keep the truth from his sisters.  
  
It wasn't just what he done to Mr. Frodo in that dream last night-- it was what he said that he couldn't forget. Words he'd thought many a time, but been too bashful to say-- his eyes blue like forget-me-nots, his skin like the delicate cream lilies. Other words he never dared to think-- his Mr. Frodo tasting like strawberries and chocolate. Telling Mr. Frodo he loved him.  
  
Sam blinked. What was he thinking? Mr. Frodo was drunk last night. He never would have acted in such a way unless he was. Never mind what happened earlier that day. That was just Mr. Frodo lonely. He had urges, too. Sam was just there is all. He could have been any hobbit. Why would Mr. Frodo look twice at the likes of Samwise when he could have any lass or lad in the Shire? What would he want with one, Samwise Gamgee? Mr. Frodo was more beautiful than any hobbit in all the Shire-- lad or lass. He was plain and simple Sam.  
  
A wee voice inside, told Sam he wasn't just anyone. He was Mr. Frodo's gardener, friend and confidant. He'd never dared to think of himself more than that-- not until now, and he had to admit it scared him. Besides, Mr. Frodo was his better and that weren't right either. Soon he was going to have to get out of this bed, get dressed and walk up to Bag End. He'd better be thinking what needed sayin' to Mr. Frodo, but he couldn't think of nary a thing to say-- except the words he said in his dreams last night.  
  
He wondered if it'd really feel like that to kiss Mr. Frodo-- among other things.  
  
Get out of bed now Samwise. The day's half done.  
  
\------------------  
  
The hot summer morning turned to a scorching afternoon. There was naught to do except go inside Bag End. Sam had walked the northeast field, pulled weeds and watered seedlings before the heat of the day peaked. Now he stood, looking at the door thinking what else might there be to do to keep him front turning that knob. Doing what needed to be done outside was one part excuse and one part necessity. While working out in the field, he'd gone over in his mind what to say or do when he saw Mr. Frodo, but nothing came to him.  
  
He didn't hear no noise inside-- though he didn't expect to. He imagined all three were paying for drinking too much ale. It'd be a while before life stirred inside Bag End. There Sam stood. Sweat trickled down in his eyes burning or were they tears? Sam sighed. His breath felt hollow. He felt old. He knew it was partly this oppressing heat, but mostly it was wishing yesterday never was.  
  
"What are you doing Samwise?" Sam said aloud to himself. "There's work to be done, you ninnyhammer. A kitchen never tends itself-- best get to it. 'Leave naught for tomorrow that you can do this day,' the Gaffer says. Standing here won't get it done."  
  
The kitchen was a mess by rights. Sam stacked the dishes neatly in the sink and grumbled under his breath as he pumped the water and put it on the stove. True, Masters Merry and Pippin weren't no housekeepers, but Sam thought they could have done a much better job of cleaning. 'And what was all this chocolate hardened on the counters? And isn't that more there on the chairs and table?' Sam grabbed an old dull butter knife and whittled the chocolate off like tree bark. Sam put a sliver in his mouth. It melted on his tongue, making a part of his body harden-- recollecting last night's dream. The water boiled, and Sam made ready to wash the dishes, bowls and whatnot. The steam made the hot summer day all the more unbearable inside the kitchen. Sam wiped his brow, thinking he deserved this heat as a penance for pinching Mr. Frodo last evening and thinking these thoughts about chocolate...  
  
Sam shook his head. Washing the dishes didn't help. It gave him more time to think. Sam kept coming to the same conclusion no matter which way: he wanted Mr. Frodo. His mind kept coming back to the Gaffer's voice in his head saying it's unnatural. His body telling him it's not, and he wasn't sure of his heart  
  
Sam needed to dry the dishes and put them away. All the towels were stiff with chocolate or strawberries remains. He'd have to go to the linen closet for the towels. That meant going by Mr. Frodo's bedroom. Sam crept down the hall, careful not to wake him. On the way back past with hand towel in hand, he noticed the door ajar to Mr. Frodo's room. He stopped-- all was quiet. He nudged the door open a bit more for a look inside. Mr. Frodo wasn't there-- his bed still made. Sam's chest heaved. Where was he? This wasn't good-- not at all. He rushed to Master Merry's room. He needed to find Mr. Frodo. He needed help.  
  
The door was shut. Sam smiled.  
  
He didn't have to press his ear to the door to hear the snoring inside. He knew one of those snores well-- he often heard it long into the morning and into some afternoon's at Bag End.  
  
Sam let out a sigh of relief. Mr. Frodo was safe-- Masters Merry and Pippin took poor Mr. Frodo in last night. Sam went to finish up in the kitchen and make something for a very late breakfast-- something easy on the stomach.  
  
The smell of buttered toast and tea woke Pippin. Sam saw him, coming like one half dead to the kitchen table-- falling into the chair, holding his head.  
  
"I made some of the Gaffer's special brew," Sam said, setting a cup of tea in front of Pippin. "I used to make this very recipe for Mr. Bilbo when he had one o' them late nights with his dwarve friends came to visit. There was singing and telling wondrous tales well into the early morn. Then Mr. Bilbo, he'd get up about the time you are now, asking for some of that tea the Gaffer used to make for him. Next night, Mr. Bilbo would be at the bottle again, singing and telling..."  
  
"Um, Sam?" Pippin interrupted. "Could you tell me this some other time? Maybe when I'm more alive."  
  
"Sorry, Master Pippin. Sometimes I just go on and on. The Gaffer says I don't know the difference between when I should shut my mouth and when I should open it." Sam saw Master Pippin straining to see into his face.  
  
"I think your Gaffer is right." Now, Samwise didn't think it was polite to agree with him on that-- no matter how true, but he kept his mouth shut like the Gaffer would want. Pippin looked in his tea cup skeptically.  
  
"Best to hold your nose when you drink it-- least wise, that's what Mr. Baggins always done," said Sam.  
  
"Morning," Frodo said, holding his nose as he walked into the kitchen. "Thought I smelled the Gaffer's secret remedy." Sam poured the tea and avoided Mr. Frodo's eyes. He set two cups on the table.  
  
"Does it work?" asked Merry, following in behind Frodo.  
  
"Bilbo claims it does," Frodo said, sitting down to the table. He picked up the cup and choked it down. "Excuse me," he said-- rushing out.  
  
"Probably going to throw up again," Pippin said flatly.  
  
"The Gaffer says, the cure is oft' times worse than the ailment," Sam noted and sighed, looking after Mr. Frodo. "I'd best get to the rest of the work here. I'll be back in to clean up later."  
  
Sam went to the bedroom and pulled the mussed sheets off Master Merry's bed. What was this? His hands began to shake. He'd stripped and cleaned the evidence from his own sheets that very morning. He knew the stains for what they were. Why, if Mr. Frodo did care for one Samwise Gamgee, would he leave them there for him find? It wasn't like his master to be hurtful. Why would his master share another's bed if he did care? Sam's mind reasoned that Mr. Frodo was terribly drunk. Drink does addle even the steadiest of minds. Maybe he didn't remember what he done. And what about Master Merry? It wasn't right of Meriadoc Brandybuck to take advantage of Mr. Frodo's condition like that neither.  
  
Then, he knew he could be jumping to what his Gaffer called, the wrong idea. Still...  
  
There he stood staring at the sheets. He had no one to blame but his own self. His master was upset last night and needed comfort-- the kind he wasn't able to give. Sam rationalized Masters' Merry and Pippin did for Mr. Frodo what he would not. Samwise didn't understand his own reaction. Why... he felt jealous. And why was he crying?  
  
\-------------  
  
"Where's Sam?" Frodo asked, standing in the doorway, his head pounding.  
  
"He went to clean our rooms, I think. What's wrong Frodo?" but Frodo didn't hear the last of Pippin's words to him. He was stumbling down the hall toward Merry's bedroom. As he stepped inside door he witnessed Sam standing there, holding the sheets. Sam turned away from Frodo. He knew. Sam said naught to him-- just turned his eyes to the floor, brushed past him out the door and down the hall. Frodo followed not sure of what to say or do. All he could think of was his beautiful Sam and how he wouldn't look him in the face. Guilt twisted his stomach into tight knots. This was all too much. He stopped. What could he possibly say? He retched, but there was naught left in his stomach but bile. Why was Sam reacting this way if he truly didn't care? Did Sam hate him so? Frodo couldn't blame Sam for judging him.  
  
Frodo went to Bilbo's study, sat down at his desk and laid his head on the smooth cool finish. He closed his eyes tight and wished for the yesterday to be gone. Tears refused him. Was this his life? To be always on the outside looking in? Last night with Merry and Pippin made Frodo realize all the more what he did not have. His body was satisfied, but his heart yearned for more. It was all too painful to see them both together, all too painful to see in them murmur words of love. He pined for all the lost caresses and playful looks he would never share with Sam. He was a outsider-- just watching life. It was no different here at Bag End. He was odd. He was an outsider. Bilbo was his home-- not this house. Not Bag End. He'd thought of running off to find Bilbo-- on some adventure. Now it seemed all that was left to do.  
  
Last night as Frodo watched the two dear friends make love, it woke in him deeper desire. A need. He loved Sam. Of that, he was sure. He couldn't live day by day so close and not having. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket. It felt smooth, cool-- comforting his nerves. He wished Gandalf would visit. Although Frodo doubted the wizard could give much counsel to him on the subject of love, he could use his sense of purpose and strength. Should he follow Bilbo? How long had it been since Galdalf visited? He did miss his company. Sometimes Frodo wished to be invisible. To just disappear altogether. Frodo pulled the ring from his pocket and opened his eyes. He rolled it around, wondering at it when Gandalf's voice came to him: '... if you take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all. At least I beg you not to use it in any way that will cause talk or rouse suspicion. I say again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!'  
  
Frodo sighed and put the ring into his vest pocket-- closed his eyes and fell to sleep on Bilbo's desk.  
  
\----------------  
  
"About time you got home," Sam was never so glad to hear his Gaffer complain. "Out all night then sleep in until the sun's straight up in the sky. I thought your lazy arse would never stir. Then when you do get up, you leave to go back to Bag End. You'd think Mr. Frodo couldn't live with out you!"  
  
"I've been thinking Da," Sam said. "I should be helping more around here." Spending less time at Bag End and more at home, it would be good to escape from the two of the most miserable days of his life. He was fearing the days would be stretching out into something-- well, something Samwise didn't want to think about. Bag End and Mr. Frodo-- if the Gaffer would have told him a week ago that one, Samwise Gamgee, would be hesitating to see either, Sam would have called him a liar to his face. Well, maybe not a liar, but he would have had words with his Gaffer. Today, them words were true. Sam could hardly believe it his own self. Now he was thinking of ways to stay away when before he be thinking of ways to go.  
  
Sam didn't know when he'd felt so tired.  
  
\----------------  
  
Frodo laid in bed unable to sleep. His hand brushed the sweat beaded on his forehead. He almost wished he'd taken Merry and Pippin up on their offer to stay with them again tonight. Frodo rolled on to his side. They'd both been understanding when he turned them down. He tossed around, then threw the sheets on him aside.  
  
What was Merry doing to make Pippin cry out so? It was all Frodo could do not to reach down and take himself in hand and... what was that? Their bed banging against the wall? Frodo wondered why he'd never heard them before this night. Were these loud moans and cries a further invitation for Frodo to come visiting?  
  
Frodo flopped over onto his belly, shoved his pillow over his head and stifled the "Oh Merry, Merry, Merry...Oh Merry" echoing through his head. This heat-- this heat was unbearable. Frodo raised his hand with fist clenched ready to rap on the wall. He knuckles brushed the surface when he pulled up sharply and jumped out of bed. He pulled out the drawer of his dressing table. There is was. Frodo took the ring and stuffed it in the bathrobe's deep pocket.  
  
He didn't really have a plan. He found himself biting his lip standing in front of Merry and Pippin's door. 'If you put it on and just stepped into the room and watched, what would it hurt?' Frodo thought, pulling the ring from his bathrobe. 'It wouldn't hurt Merry or Pippin. Pippin would probably enjoy it,' Frodo thought with a smirk. Yet, Frodo knew in his heart it wasn't right. Not for him. Not for them. He put the ring back in his pocket and walked out the door of Bag End. What he needed was some fresh night air to clear his head.  
  
Frodo found himself standing in front of Number Three. Way lead to way and his feet brought his heart to Bag Shot Row, the place of his fondest want. Hands in his pockets, he stood looking in. All was dark and quiet. He remembered a time when he was younger-- when he was welcome inside without all the formalities that stood in the way now. He was accepted without invitation. He was just Frodo-- Bilbo's ward who came to visit the Gamgee's. He'd eat apple pie with fresh cream and sit and laugh as Mrs. Gamgee told tales about Bilbo. Love was the main ingredient that Mrs. Gamgee baked in the pie and in her home. No pie before or since ever tasted better. Standing here, looking in Frodo wondered how it all came to this. Samwise's ma taken before her time. Bilbo gone. And the one good thing he felt now was wrong: his love for Samwise Gamgee.  
  
His mind argued he shouldn't do it, yet Frodo reasoned he would be the only one that knew.  
  
He put on the ring.  
  
It was so easy to walk through the door like he did as a young lad, but as he wandered through the hallway, he felt like Bilbo-- master burglar. Frodo smiled at the pegs with coats all lines up on the wall so different from his solitary hook and cloak at Bag End. He felt a bit downhearted that the place didn't look the quite the same as it did when he was a young lad. Still, a bit of Bell lingered.  
  
Frodo noticed Sam's old work gloves by the cold hearth. The smell of bacon and hotcakes made him realize he hadn't eaten a thing since the toast that he didn't keep down that morning. He sat at the table for a moment. One of the Gamgee's mousers came up and sniffed him, rubbing and purring against his leg. No hissing or spitting at Frodo. 'Even invisible, I'm invisible,' Frodo thought.  
  
He got up and walked down the hallway, following a memory long ago. This was the way to Sam's room.  
  
His door was shut, and Frodo tried the knob. It turned quietly in his hand, and he pushed the door open. The night was humid and hot; there lay Samwise, body taunt and beautiful with only a sheet half covering him. Frodo lost all time, watching him sleep. He studied Sam. He did not want to forget one movement, one curve. Frodo stood enraptured, watching his chest lightly rise and fall. Memorizing the salty beads of sweat forming that dappled his forehead and chest. Listening to each sigh and moan. Then he heard it.  
  
Sam said, "Frodo."  
  
At first Frodo thought he imagined it. Frodo stepped closer to his bed. Then he heard him moan and call his name clearly, "Frodo." The way that Sam was writhing about, it didn't look to be like he was calling Frodo's name to get advice about tending gardens.  
  
And there was no Mister before Frodo. And the way he said it-- like Frodo was the beginning-- the end. Frodo took one more step. Sam was close enough to touch. He lifted up the sheet and shifted it aside. Sam had naught on-- more beautiful and valuable than the Silmarils, he was.  
  
Sam moaned and said, "Frodo, my Frodo, yes."  
  
Frodo groaned as he looked on at Sam's flushed body-- his hard member lengthening. Frodo grew harder with each moan Sam made, and with each whisper of his name, he felt less and less afraid. Sam wanted him-- at least in his dreams. 'My dreams came first also,' Frodo thought. Hope filled him and more want. The seeds were there, of course, before the dreams-- but the dreams forced Frodo to recognize what it was that he felt-- what he felt for his Sam. Maybe this is what was coming to pass for Sam right this very moment. He knew then that Sam was dreaming his dream.  
  
Frodo placed himself beside Sam-- his head resting next to Sam's on the pillow. He bravely brushed his lips against Sam's cheek. Sam turned his head, meeting Frodo's stunned mouth. Sam lips lingered delicately at first then took Frodo's mouth hostage. Frodo moaned and quivered as Sam sucked Frodo's tongue into his own mouth. Sam rolled on top of him, rubbing his own slick member against his. Frodo choked back, calling Sam's name. He was invisible. This was Sam's dream. If Sam knew, this would not be.  
  
As Sam thrust again, his mouth covered his master's. Frodo could not be silent and answered him back, "Sam. Oh Sam." The friction increased, and Frodo could hold back no longer. He could feel himself coming-- his seed spilling against Sam belly. He felt Sam's body harden and convulse into his. One last time, he heard the trace of his name, "Frodo." One last time, he brushed his lips to Sam's. His Samwise gently rolled away.  
  
He tasted his tears down the back of his throat. He gathered his will, stood up and walked out of the door.  
  
He didn't take the ring off until he was inside his own room at Bag End.


	4. What Hands May Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry sat at the table trying to decipher which of the two (as Sam's Gaffer would say) was: "the biggest ninnyhammer." From where Merry sat eating first breakfast, both were insufferable fools. The moment Frodo looked up; Sam looked down. The instant Sam looked up; Frodo looked down. It was making Merry dizzy. He felt like flailing his arms in the air and blurting out, "By Eru, what are you two waiting for?! Rip off each others clothes and go at it like rabbits!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: although the word rape is used, and Sam is a bit ummm, demonstrative, Frodo is very consenting. However, if you're adverse to any mention of rape at all, don't read this. The non-con label is only on this for those who may see the use of the word rape as a trigger. Warning over.

Merry sat at the table trying to decipher which of the two (as Sam's Gaffer would say) was: "the biggest ninnyhammer." From where Merry sat eating first breakfast, _both_ were insufferable fools. The moment Frodo looked up; Sam looked down. The instant Sam looked up; Frodo looked down. It was making Merry dizzy. He felt like flailing his arms in the air and blurting out, "By Eru, what are you two waiting for?! Rip off each others clothes and go at it like rabbits!" 

Merry rubbed his chin. Part of him knew this 'hide-n-seek' game Frodo and Sam were engaged in was _his_ fault. Merry had playfully asked Frodo if he'd 'like to join them again' and 'explore each other bit further...' After bashful stammering, Frodo confessed to Merry he enjoyed the watching _and_ Pippin's umm-- ministering. However, Frodo made it clear that the night of their drunken debauchery _was_ a mistake. Frodo haltingly explained what kept him from coming back to bed with Merry and Pip was Sam. Merry knew Frodo's answer before he even asked.  Merry supposed, in some perverse way, he delighted  in the Frodo who stuttered and blushed-- this forced far in his mind the Frodo who floundered and wavered on the Edge of Middle Earth that night at the Green Dragon. 

The past two weeks Merry watched the two do this same dance-- circling and swirling a league apart. While watching Frodo's love life was diverting, Merry had decided this was enough. Merry was certain now that Frodo would never vocalize his secret desire to bed his handsome gardener. Merry was convinced Sam must take the first step. As much as Merry would like to be witness to the big moment, Merry knew Sam probably won't make a move with he and Pip at Bag End-- unless Sam thought some one else might seduce his Mr. Frodo again.

Merry blinked. Would Sam ever stop drilling Merry and Pippin with disgusted looks? Merry had to laugh to himself. Aye, that night forced old Sam to face of few truths-- dirty sheets can be a real eye opener. Merry shot Sam a smile back, and Sam stared back, grinding his teeth. Merry was sure if his last name were Boffin or Cotton instead of Brandybuck, Sam would be pounding the sand out of him right now. No, he wasn't worried about Frodo anymore. Merry chuckled. What Sam needed was to vent some of his anger constructively-- like in bed with Mr. Frodo. 

Merry looked over at Pip. Pippin was positively glowing. At first he'd been concerned the tryst might harm their relationship, but sharing a bed with Frodo didn't bruise them--  instead the experience inspired some of the best nights of love making between them Merry could remember. He closed his eyes and hummed. Hum--isn't that what Pippin did last night with his gracious mouth around his...

"...don't you think so Merry?" Pip asked.

"What?" 

"I think we need to get back to Brandy Hall," Peregrin said. 'Well,' thought Merry, 'Pippin's noticed the problem, too.' 

"So, soon?"  asked Frodo absently, working to avoid Sam's eyes. "I seems you just got here."

"If you really _want_ us to stay longer," Pippin answered, "we will Frodo. I never did tell your fortune. I have the cards right here. Would you like me to now?" Pippin pulled the cards out. Merry noticed Sam's expression, and it was none too pleased.

"I don't know as I should," Frodo said haltingly, looking over in Sam's direction. 

"Well, I will if you're curious," Pippin said, "just let me know. We can stay longer. No rush to get back. We haven't had enough _together_ time, don't you think we should have some more _together_ time Merry?"  

Merry wasn't quite sure what effect Pip was trying to exact with that comment. Both Sam's and Frodo's cheeks turned hot-- but for different reasons altogether. The past few days it was all Merry could do to keep Pippin from trying to seduce poor Frodo. Most of it though, was for Sam's benefit. Merry had to admit-- Pippin's flirtatiousness was working on Sam. However, Pippin's attentions was also having an effect on him. Although watching Frodo blush clear down to his fingers tips was intoxicating, the temptation was far too great to resist. Remembering Frodo, flushed on the bed with Pippin  was getting Merry hot. He looked at Sam, and Sam was looking right into him. Almost like he knew exactly what Merry was thinking. They better return home. Soon. Gentry or no, Sam might kill them both. 

Merry decided then it was best to pack and leave. But no need to rush-- first one more biscuit with honey. 

\-------------

Sam was never so happy to see anyone leave as Masters Merry and Pippin that evening. 

No, he wasn't going to miss cleaning up after the two-- took most of his time with no time left for the garden. No, Sam hadn't been so happy to see any one leave since the Sackville-Baggins left after Bilbo's party. Keeping a close eye on Mr. Frodo had been tricky. With that pesky Peregrin Took looking at Mr. Frodo like he was blueberry pie, Sam spent most of his time making sure his master didn't get too comfortable with his cousins. 

Sam studied Mr. Frodo, who stood looking after their tram swaying to and fro slowly passing over the hill. Mr. Frodo's shoulders sagged and face dropped-- Samwise thought that Mr. Frodo's heart was passin' o'er that hill besides. 

They were alone again together.

Sam sighed. He knew what Mr. Frodo was thinking. Over the last days, Samwise had done a load of searching inside himself. Sometimes life needs to yield and hold-- like stopping to see new shoots unfold from old apple trees-- most don't see the sprouts unless they take a pause. Unless a hobbit tarries awhile, what they're looking at won't get a notice-- there'll be no distinguishing between frost nipped buds from the chaste ones. This week forced Samwise to pause. As much as he was glad to see Merry and Pippin going off, he could thank them for making one, Samwise Gamgee, pause and notice. 

Over the week, Sam learned many a thing about himself and his Mr. Frodo. First off, the import of simple words twixt them. It weren't just talking.  Sam now knew he was missing what the talking meant. All them words' absence this last week, left a hollow spot inside Sam. He never stopped to realize just how much he did tell in his master, and how much his master did tell him-- about hopes and dreams. About life. Samwise would confide all the secrets and promises he made to himself-- promises and wishes he kept from the world-- all these he told his Mr. Frodo. This intimacy was returned-- words only reserved for Samwise. All spoken but for the one dearest wish and promise from Mr. Frodo. Words he did not say for fear of Sam's answer.  It broke Sam's heart to know that one word was left unspoken. 

Sam never reflected on what this confidence portended. Not until this very week did he comprehend the simple answer-- what is one individual to another, an individual who knows what is inside the deepest margin of the other's heart? Sam could name it now. 

What Mr. Frodo had become to him had happened gradually. That Mr. Frodo recognized it for what it was didn't surprise Samwise. His fool self wasn't looking for such things. 

All this week living with out speaking to Mr. Frodo, Sam felt alone. 

Sam shook himself hoping he could stir up the mettle to tell Mr. Frodo how he felt. Trouble was Sam had no mind o' what to say:  "Ah, excuse me Mr. Frodo, sir. If you don't mind me asking? I keep having these dreams about you, and I was wondering-- could we maybe see how these work in real life? You can start by taking off that fancy weskit and laying yourself down." 

Aye, straight forward like, maybe that was the approach to take. He thought of seducing him, but Sam didn't see himself as seductive no how. Maybe if he just kissed Mr. Frodo. Just a friendly like kiss. On the lips maybe. Or the back of the neck. 

The last few days Sam _had_ tried some subtle approaches. He let his hand linger over the top of Frodo's when handing him his tea. Frodo jerked his hand away spilling the hot tea all over the table. Seemed every time he got close to Mr. Frodo, his master reacted like a skittish colt.

Subtle hadn't worked. Maybe climbing into bed with Mr. Frodo, like in Sam's dreams would work. Slip into bed next to Mr. Frodo with naught on-- that had possibilities. Never mind, a  friendly like kiss. Aye, mayhap a not so friendly like kiss-- traveling down to other parts of Mr. Frodo's body. Just thinking of it made him blush and aroused. Although one particularly splendid dream had Mr. Frodo with naught on crawling into bed with Sam-- the one dream that was so real. That wasn't likely to happen.

Then there was the Gaffer's disapproval towering in the back of Sam's mind. Over the last days Sam resolve broke. He could no longer  ignore the way he felt about Mr. Frodo, no how-- Gaffer or no. He loved his da, but he loved Mr. Frodo, too. Since that day Master Peregrin told Samwise's fortune, Sam's heart was a mess-- he was feelin' like some silly lovelorn lass. Every moment of his day was filled with want. 

Sam looked over to Mr. Frodo standing at the gate and stepped beside him. His master feeling the same way but fearing to reach out, didn't make it any easier. So he did what Frodo could not; Sam put his hand on top of his master's and looked into his eyes. 

"Sam," his master hesitated, closing his eyes. "I've not been fair to you at all. Seems I've thought mostly of myself-- not what cost my personal feelings have upon you. You deserve more than what I could ever give."

"Mr. Frodo, pardon me," interrupted Sam, " but don't you think I know what you can give?"

"I know very well what I can give-- what I'd _like_ to give," Frodo's eyes fell to both of their hands, resting together on top of the gate. "It is what I can _not_ give to you that makes this all so impossible. A home with a family. I _can't_ take that from you. I _won't_ take that from you. If you please, Sam, let us not talk of this ever again." Sam felt his master's hand slip out from under his. He watched as Mr. Frodo turned and walked back into Bag End.

Sam stood at the gate for some time. He watched as the sun dipped down past the crest of the farthest hill. The grass on the hill turned a dark purple and the sky shades of red and gold. He best be going in to Bag End to straighten the kitchen. 

As he picked up the dishes from dinner, he noticed Master Peregrin's fortune cards left upon the table. Sam sat turning the cards over one by one. This was what started this whole mess. Sam knew he could not go back and forget all that he'd come to realize now-- one too many of the cards had been turned over.

He was about to put them all away when his eyes noticed one card in particular. Beautifully illustrated with ivy and gold on its borders, it was of two elves--  one knave taller with reddish hair stood behind the other fair haired elve. His arm encircled the other's waist and his mouth pressed against the other's ear. Sam imagined, whispering some words of love. The fair elve's eyes were closed and lips slightly parted. Sam picked all the cards up, all but the one, and shuffled the rest. He set them face down into a neat pile, placing the one card left in his hand face down on top. He got up to leave. He stopped. His hand still above the cards deciding, deciding. No, subtle wasn't working. Then he flipped over the top card and left it facing up. 

The kitchen could wait 'til morning. It was past time to go home.

\------------

Pulling his hand away from Sam's was the hardest. He wanted just to let it rest on his awhile longer, feeling the comfort of his touch. Maybe Sam did love him the same way he loved Sam, but Sam was still young. He wanted a family with lots of little ones-- he told Frodo his wish so many times-- of a hill and a large family filled with laughter and noise. What could Frodo Baggins offer? No family, instead a stuffy solitary old hobbit who day after day deciphers Quenya or Sindarin. 

Frodo went to make himself some tea before bed-- a pleasure Sam usually saw to or was it a pleasure because Sam saw to it? Frodo knew it was the latter. Still, 'old habits die hard' thought Frodo with Sam's voice popping into his head 'at least that's what the Gaffer always says.' 

He put the kettle on the stove and stoked it up a bit, adding a small log to the fire that Sam had started before he left.

Frodo pulled up the chair and sat down, chewing on one of his cuticles. The log fell, and Frodo jumped. He was never much good at tending the stove's fire. Never had to with Bilbo or Sam around. 

Then he noticed the card. The dishes were cleared from dinner. He knew Sam had to have seen the card-- if not left it as a message to Frodo. Did Sam know about the other night? Was he awake? The card was erotic-- no wonder the deck had such an appeal for Pippin. No mistaking, the two were lovers in a sweet embrace. Frodo placed his hand flat to the table, spreading out his fingers-- his eyes resting on his index finger. He wished he never put on the ring. Never knew what it was like to feel Sam's embrace. 

Frodo had wondered many times over the last week and had come to the conclusion that Samwise knew something happened. Just not what. 

He got up and poured his tea and started for his room with cup in hand. Might as well have _something_ hot in the bedroom, Frodo thought. He really should stop feeling all this self pity. He turned into Bilbo's study to get a book of elvish verses he'd had a mind to translate. 

\--------------

The smell of musty manuscript woke Frodo. At least that was what he first thought as his eyes opened, trying to adjust to his darkened room. He'd fallen asleep reading _Narn i Hîn Húrin_ ; his tea untouched. He was about to sit up when he noticed something just inside his door, moving. His eyes strained to see. He lay dead still-- steadied his breath and pretended to be asleep in an effort to buy himself some time to think. No doubt a thief come looking for Bilbo's treasure. It had happened once before long ago with Bilbo there. Now he must come up with a way to deal with this intruder himself.

Frodo's mind raced; what to do other than lie here and wait for the robber to leave the room? Abscond or advance? Flee or fight? He watched the shadow standing between himself and the door through his slitted lids. Then the robber did something Frodo did not understand. He began to take off his shirt. What sort of robber undresses? Frodo had read about this type of thief before-- there was a word for those who take chastity instead of goods. 

Frodo's mind grasped for what to do. Waiting in bed, pretending to be asleep was no longer the good idea it was a moment before. The fellow was a bit larger than him. Still, Frodo thought he could take him. The thief's shirt was off, and he was slowly unbuttoning his trousers when Frodo noticed a familiarity to the  intruder's profile. He _knew_ \--

It was Sam. _His_ thief. _His_ rapist.

Now, this was interesting. Pretending to be asleep could have its advantages. 

By now Frodo's eyes had adjusted to the dim light of his room. He steadied his breathing again-- for an entirely different reason. Sam let his breeches drop softly to the floor, and he still stood against the light of the door in profile. His body taunt and muscled-- from the bed Frodo could see his beautiful thief's biceps quiver-- his abdomen nervously twitching. Sam turned and slowly padded to Frodo's bed, moving softly to the other side. He gently lifted the sheet and slipped in beside him. Frodo felt the weight of his Sam pull him in. Then the light touch of Samwise's arm around his waist. He felt the warmth of his breath in his ear, and Sam's erection lightly brushing his back side. His temples pounded. It was all he could to to keep his body from arching into Sam's. Still he feigned sleep-- afraid one movement from him would send Sam away. 

Frodo thought, isn't that what I should be doing? Sending him away? Then Sam's fingers crept around and low while his tongue traced to Frodo's left ear both, making their desired contact at the same time. As Sam's hand deftly squeezed around Frodo's length, he moved his thumb to rub the head of Frodo's hard member-- sending shivers through him as Sam's alternated cool breath and hot tongue inside his ravaged ear. Sam rocked against him, moaning as Frodo's bottom pressed against Sam's arousal.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo murmured. He could no longer be silent and pretend. His heart beat up through his mouth. "What are you doing here?" he asked, marveling that his Sam is here pressed tight against him. Sam answered not with words but with want-- rolling atop Frodo, pinning him beneath. Frodo grasped Sam's hair at last, meeting his eyes. "Are you some burglar come to my bed?" his voice hushed and urgent. "What do you mean to take?"

"I mean to _take_ a priceless treasure," Sam said, his eyes narrowing never leaving Frodo's lips. "The most rare and radiant in all Middle Earth. I would much rather if this cherished item were offered, but if it's not-- I'll take it all the same."  The words made Frodo quake and his blood stir. Desire and need filled him. Sam could feel him growing harder beneath with every rasping breath.

Frodo mouth curled. This was a side of Sam he'd never evened dared to dream. He felt giddy as Sam seductively rubbed his hard shaft between his legs frustrated with the cloth in the way. Oh, Eru, don't let him stop. 

"I guess you'll have to take me then," Frodo challenged.

"You won't change your mind?" Sam asked. Frodo shook his head no. "Then I have no choice. I can't just leave these riches afore me-- not when others are wanting them so. You force me to take my prize." Frodo whimpered as Sam held his master's arms down and leisurely brought his mouth a breath from Frodo's. "Now, do I steal my kiss?" 

Frodo didn't answer instead his deep blue eyes turned to ice. "So, that's the way it's going to be," Sam said, opening his mouth then pressing it hard against Frodo's-- his tongue pirating every smooth silky spot within. He sucked at Frodo's tongue and felt his master solid beneath him.

"And what am I to do with this?" Sam asked, pulling at Frodo's night shirt.

"I guess you'll have to rip them off of me," Frodo answered breathlessly. Sam eyes swiped over Frodo's entire body, making him feel already naked before him. 

"That I'll do then-- if it is what I must do to get to my treasure."  Sam calloused hand reached up, grasping the neckline, and Frodo felt the buttons give and pop. He felt his bare shin next to his quaking. He looked down-- he was vulnerable, completely exposed. He swallowed hard, wanting so much for Sam to take him as he'd dreamed of so many times. Sam saw the want in his master's eyes. 

"What part of the treasure is the most precious? Could you show me where?" Frodo asked.

Sam let one hand slide down, fluttering over his nipple-- brushing against it just enough to get to stand up. "That's a jewel for sure, but not the one I'm looking for, sir." Sam's breath ran hot, floating along aside his hand, licking and teasing that same nipple into a hard pebble. "No, that's not the treasure I seek."

Sam's finger traced lower and circled around Frodo's navel, his tongue became rigid, pushing in and out-- imitating the action Frodo longed for. Frodo moaned hard and long. 

"Now hearing you moan like that's a store of gold for sure. Think I can get a whole treasure chest filled with gasps and groans out of you?" Sam asked.

"You could try," Frodo answered, watching Sam's fingers dip lower. He closed his eyes waiting and wanting. Sam's fingers brushed the head of his cock, and he groaned pitifully.

"I'll get you to cry out much better than that, I think," Sam said with a half smile as he took Frodo into his mouth. 

Frodo's body shook, biting his lip as Sam's tongue took butterfly flicks on the tip of his cock. Next his mouth and hand stroked and sucked slowly increasing the pressure and pace until Frodo could no longer hold in his cry. His hands clutching at the sheets he came hard in Sam's mouth-- he felt himself sob and tears wet his cheeks. 

Sam look up seeing the tears. He pulled himself up to Frodo's face, brushing his salty tears with his finger. "I'm fine Sam," Frodo said. "I'm a just a bit overwhelmed." Sam rested his forehead against Frodo's, smiled and kissed him deep and sure. Frodo tasted himself in Sam's mouth. He felt himself begin to harden again.

"I must say sir that I've not gotten to that treasure yet I was wanting. Mayhap, would you be willing to give it to me?" 

Frodo looked long into his Sam's eyes. "Aye," he said quietly. "All I have, I give to you."  

Sam captured his master's mouth and his hand moved to his most valued store. Not as sure and steady as before, Sam watched Frodo's face as he smoothed the moist pearls from the tip of his own cock on to his fingers and placed his fingers at the treasure Sam garnered above all the rest. He slid one finger in slowly watching Frodo carefully. 

"Please, don't stop," Frodo gasped, pushing himself down further into his hand. As Sam eased his finger in and out, he slid another finger in. Frodo panted. "Please Sam, I want you inside me." 

Frodo took his hand, and grasped Sam, sending a heady shudder through both their frames. Frodo felt Sam's thick shaft slicken, and he spread his legs for Sam to enter him more easily. Even after readying his entrance, Sam met resistance. Sam wavered-- afraid of hurting him. Frodo pushed hard against Sam. Suddenly Sam was sheathed inside Frodo almost completely. Frodo couldn't tell just how far Sam was inside him. There was pain, but it was not unbearable. Sam held himself still as Frodo adjusted to the feel of Sam's cock. Slowly Frodo moved beneath him. 

"I want all of you Sam,"  and as Sam pushed himself slowly in the rest of the way, a slow warmth spread  through Frodo's body. As Sam's body rocked Frodo, the warmth became a searing fire. His Sam found the place he'd read about-- every inch of his body vibrated with heat pushing, straining into him again and again. He could tell by the shaking that his Sam was close.  He was so near the edge also-- ready to spill. As Sam increased the pressure and speed, Frodo met each lunge with a sharp gasp. Pulse pounding, driving him, he felt the sudden blissful release.  Hands shaking, he held Sam's head, pouring kisses over and over onto his salty forehead and cheeks. Sam began to call his name. Then looking deep into his sweet green eyes, Frodo silenced his lips-- crushing his name deep inside Sam as Sam came inside him. 

Both wrapped together, neither wanting to move-- for this moment to end. Finally Frodo, moved his hand and lightly played with Sam's soft sandy hair. 

Sam looked up.

"Frodo, you aren't going to send me away are you?" Sam asked.

"No," Frodo answered, "I don't think I have the strength to turn you away now." 

Sam half smiled.

"I was hoping that's what the outcome would be from all this," Sam laughed then his face became serious.

"I love you, Sam."

"I know that. Least wise that's what the cards said. The path. My secret love," Sam smiled. "I could tell your fortune, you know."

"How's that Sam?"

"I'd be this: you gets your heart's wish, and I get mine," Sam took a deep breath and put on his most serious face. "I love you, Mr. Frodo Baggins of the Shire."

"Mmm. Next time, it will be my turn to return that love," Frodo sighed.

"No regretting. No way, no how, the way I feel is never going to change..." Sam gave Frodo a quick peck on the cheek and winked "...invisible or no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments welcome and appreciated always!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. As always, comments and kudos are welcome and appreciated.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: [**elwinglyre Tumblr**](https://elwinglyre.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
